


Crossing Swords

by GizmoTrinket



Series: Smut Sunday [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Choking, Condoms, D/s undertones, Exhibitionism, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Group Sex, M/M, Military Kink, Multi, Neck Kissing, PWP, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Sherlock is a slag, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, blowjobs for everyone, except you Murray, sorry :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 15:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15367647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GizmoTrinket/pseuds/GizmoTrinket
Summary: “You’re on holiday,” the man repeated, scepticism clear in his expression and voice.“Yes,” Sherlock said. Really, why was that so hard to understand?“This is a war zone!” he shouted in exasperation.Well, yes, there was that.(Stand alone in series)





	Crossing Swords

**Author's Note:**

> Did you read the tags?
> 
> Beta read by [@AelishLuna on Twitter](https://twitter.com/AelishLuna) who worked diligantly to take this from Hot to SPICY. Confidence given so I’d have it beta read by [wistfulpisces](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wistfulpisces) who posted an awesome new story today, ["Afghanistan or Iraq?"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15364965) Go check it out :D

“You’re on holiday,” the man repeated, scepticism clear in his expression and voice.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. Really, why was that so hard to understand?

“This is a war zone!” he shouted in exasperation.

Well, yes, there was that.

“Tell me,” Sherlock said, leaning into the short blond soldier’s space. His eyes flicked to the soldier’s name, then to his eyes, “Watson…” Sherlock made sure the man was paying close attention before he allowed his eyes to fall to thin lips.

“Yes?” Watson said, a little breathlessly. He licked his lips and Sherlock knew he had him.

Sherlock looked back into the man’s eyes and found them darker, pupils dilated. Sherlock lowered his voice to say, “Tell me a better place to find soldiers.”

With that, he leaned back, standing at his full height under the hot Afghan sun. He could feel his cocky smile but didn’t force his face into something neutral. He’d earned it.

“What?” Watson said, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Before Sherlock could ask Watson to take him somewhere private, a taller blond man came up.

“Watson!” he barked. “What’s going on here?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the man. He was clearly Watson’s commanding officer.

“Uh…” Watson shook himself out of his daze. “Right, I found this civilian sneaking around.” He looked up at the other man, uniform indicating his name was Sholto. “I was just finding out why.”

The corner of Sholto’s mouth twitched when their eyes met.

And, oh, that was interesting. They were meeting up here, on the edge of the base. There was no logical reason for anyone to be here, far away from the entrances next to tents that held nothing of importance unless there was an attack.

“What did you find out?”

“He says he’s on _holiday,”_ Watson said with a wry smile.

“Holiday, huh?” Sholto’s expression turned when he looked at Sherlock. “Who are you and what are you really doing here?”

“Holmes,” Sherlock said, extending his hand. “I believe you are expecting me.”

That seemed to surprise Sholto, as Sherlock suspected it would. He straightened his posture into something more professional and said, “Oh, Mr Holmes, we weren’t expecting you personally—”

“You’re thinking of my brother. Call me Sherlock.”

Sholto nodded and took Sherlock’s hand. “Of course, well, if you’d come this way I can show you—”

“I’m not interested in the missing missiles. I’ve already figured it out and phoned my brother.” Sherlock pulled his satellite phone out and flipped it before putting it back. “As I was telling your lover here…”

Watson sputtered but Sholto remained calm, only narrowing his eyes.

“…I’m on holiday.” Sherlock looked at Sholto through his lashes. He turned his triumphant smirk, which had appeared when Watson and Sholto confirmed his deduction, filthy. “And since my work is done I’d like to have some fun.”

“We’re not sleeping to—” Watson started but Sholto cut him off.

“What do you want?”

Sherlock deliberated—should he ask for what he really wanted or should he settle?

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. He could always settle if negotiations didn’t go well.

He looked Sholto straight in the eye and said, “I want Watson.”

“What?” the soldiers asked simultaneously.

“I want him to come to whatever quarters you have set up for me—I’m sure they’re private and out of the way, and…” Sherlock made a vaguely crude hand gesture before saying, “Well, I’m sure you can guess.”

“Who do you think you are?!” Watson bellowed irately, hands raising in agitation.

“You were interested before your commander showed up. If he gives you the go ahead it wouldn’t be cheating. Really, it saved us a step and your guilt later.”

“I…” Watson started but trailed off. He pursed his lips and looked at the ground.

Sholto was frowning.

Sherlock knew he could force the issue, could blackmail them, could coerce Watson (and maybe Sholto) into bed with him. But that wasn’t how he operated. If they decided to carry on a forbidden romance it wasn’t any of his business and them not wanting to have sex with him would result in inferior sex. It would ruin the whole thing.

However, he wasn’t going to just walk away either. He had singled out Watson. Blond, muscular, in uniform, high enough up that he liked giving commands and had access to medical lubricant (in fact, Watson had some on him now). After following him a bit he’d deduced that he had a lover on base (but it wasn’t serious) and that he occasionally slept with others; he was bisexual and career military, and, based on his walk, he had a huge cock.

Watson was perfect.

Sherlock wasn’t looking for something long distance; he didn’t do relationships. He’d taken the case to pay off a favour. Now Mycroft and he were even. He figured he had at least three days before Mycroft called asking for an update. After Sherlock was _satisfied_ he’d tell Mycroft where the missiles were and he’d leave.

Sholto was silently communicating with Watson and they were both frowning. Sherlock knew the problem (they’d met here, in a secluded part of the camp near the noisy generators, for sex) and had a solution.

“I’m not opposed to _sharing.”_

Watson and Sholto gaped at him.

“I’m in the middle of things here… I like being in the middle of _things_.” And, dear god, did he really just say that? It sounded like a line out of a bad porno. Thankfully, the soldiers weren’t laughing. In fact, it looked like Watson was flustered.

Sherlock decided to just go for it. He couldn’t possibly make the situation any worse. “Are you both free?”

“John,” Sholto said, his voice unsteady despite the single syllable.

“Just to be clear, you want to have a threesome?” Watson, John, asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. He could be open here. He’d never see these men again. “But I’m willing to settle for one of you.” Sholto was blond, and more muscular than John. He needed more information to deduce the size of his cock, but he was sure it was adequate.

Sholto and John shared a look and after Sholto’s eyes softened John asked, “Are you sure, James?”

“Yes,” Sholto, James, said decisively. Turning to Sherlock he became authoritative,  “Follow me to your quarters.”

Sherlock shivered in anticipation.

It was a quick walk. As Sherlock expected, the space set aside for him was somewhat secluded. Admittedly, he’d expected more than a glorified broom closet in a tent. The space was a little over three metres by slightly under four. Clearly they’d set him up here, in a place without air conditioning or any comforts in a ploy to ask for more funding. There was a cot covered in threadbare sheets and a thin pillow. A hideous orange carpet was covering the floor. A rather attractive wardrobe took up the back of the room.  Sherlock had actually hoped to have never used the room, to just bounce around various private spaces, perhaps even being walked in on and having another man join in, but that wasn’t necessary anymore.

As soon as they were out of the sun the soldiers stripped off their jackets and Sherlock did the same. The wardrobe went ignored—they just dropped their garments on the floor. His bedfellows weren’t planning on taking their time, then. John and James pulled off their formerly white vests which had been stained over time by dirt and sweat, and Sherlock could only stand and gape. They had tan lines. He hadn’t realized they would have tan lines. Stupid of him to have missed—

“Sherlock?” John sounded worried.

Sherlock blinked himself out of his head as James said, “I don’t think he’s bowing out. I think he’s losing focus.” He walked up and tilted Sherlock’s head to his. “Aren’t you?”

Sherlock looked down to James’s lips and gasped when they came to his own.

James’s lips were dry, chapped from dehydration and the sun. But his tongue took advantage of Sherlock’s open mouth and Sherlock was lost in the sensation. James pulled Sherlock against his sweaty, muscular body and started pawing at his arse.

“God,” James said as he pulled back. “I can’t decide.”

Sherlock blinked at him.

“Mmm,” a hum was the warning Sherlock got before another, more compact body pressed against his, this time from behind. Smaller hands groped his arse. There was a hiss as John inhaled.

“I see what you mean,” John said. He moved his hands to Sherlock’s waist and walked around to join James. He stroked a thumb over Sherlock’s lips, still moist from the kiss. “Hard choice.”

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s neck and yanked his head down for a kiss. John’s lips weren’t chapped, they were slick. Of course, he worked in the hospital, he had access to Chapstick. He was a doctor or… something… knew… dehydration…

“Ohhh…” Sherlock moaned.

James was behind him now (when had that happened?), he was rubbing his erection between Sherlock’s arse cheeks through their clothing.

The moan that came out of Sherlock made John bite his lower lip.

“Look at me,” John said.

Sherlock willed his fluttering lashes open and met John’s eyes.

“How do you want to do this?” John asked breathlessly. Somehow he’d taken control of the scenario by letting Sherlock direct it. Amazing.

“Don’t care,” Sherlock said and tried to pull John back into another kiss.

James yanked on Sherlock’s hair from behind and pulled him up while pushing him forward, arching him until the back of his head was resting on James’s shoulder. “That’s not an answer,” he said.

Sherlock held in a whimper but felt his hips thrust against air. He tried to back into James, but the hand on his arse held him out so he couldn’t walk back. Was there some way to turn…?

Pressure on his groin got his attention. John was stroking him through his trousers.

“Sherlock, what do you want?” John asked.

The pull on his hair increased.

“Anything! Everything, I don’t know. Just fuck me!” Already it was getting to be too much. He was overwhelmed.

It was amazing.

His hair was released and a push on his rear made him stumble forward. The fog cleared a bit.

“I want his mouth,” James said.

“No,” Sherlock said and shook his head. “No.”

John licked his lips with his brow furrowed. “No?”

“I mean, James, you should fuck me. John’s too short, the angles will all be off. I’ll suck John off during.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” John asked with a smile.

Arms wrapped around Sherlock, one undoing a button in the middle of his purple shirt and sliding inside. The other stroked his erection through his trousers. He could feel James grind against his arse.

“Fine by me,” James said.

Sherlock panted and felt his knees go weak. He threw his head back and bit his lip.

“Yeah, fuck, ok,” John agreed quickly.

Together they stripped Sherlock’s shirt and pushed him back onto the cot. He leaned over to remove his shoes. It went slowly because he wasn’t focused on his task, more on watching John and James strip.

There were more tan lines indicating they went shirtless sometimes. John’s erection was indeed impressive. Sherlock couldn’t be sure as he was too aroused to make accurate measurements, but it was at least twenty centimetres long and the girth was remarkable. He regretted his decision— _that_ would feel much better in his arse than his mouth.

James caught Sherlock’s attention by giving himself a few strokes.

“Oh!” Sherlock gasped.

He’d made the right decision after all.

“Okay?” John asked as he gave himself a leisurely stroke. “We’re… I mean… It’s not going to be easy.” After a moment he asked, “You still want to—”

“Yes!” Sherlock interrupted. He removed the last item he was wearing (a sock) and threw it over his shoulder.

John went over to his jacket and pulled out two condoms and a tube of medical lubricant, just as Sherlock had deduced. He was happy to be proven correct.

Sherlock stroked his interested cock to full attention as the soldiers put their condoms on.

John handed the lube over to his superior and walked up to Sherlock, who’d leaned slightly forward in anticipation. He held his cock in front of Sherlock’s face and Sherlock stuck his tongue out, giving it a little lick.

“Why so shy now?” John asked.

Sherlock shot him a glare before taking the head of his cock into his mouth. He wasn’t shy. He just hadn’t been expecting this. John was above average and James was well above average. When he’d been imagining this scenario he’d always pictured the men as average sized or below so he wouldn’t be disappointed.

The latex of the condom didn’t taste good and Sherlock closed his eyes so he could focus on the shape of the cock inside it. He worked his way down, wrapping his lips around his teeth as he added saliva so he’d slide. He only opened his eyes when pubic hair tickled his nose.

He looked up, breathing through his nose, and saw John looking down with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“Fuck,” John gasped.

Sherlock could see John’s hand hovering in his peripheral vision and he took it and put it on his head. It was what John wanted, he was just too polite to go for it. Sherlock wrapped his fingers around John’s and pulled a bit, showing John he liked his hair pulled.

“Oh, fuck,” John said, and added his other hand too. They carded through Sherlock’s curls a bit before they pulled.

Sherlock met John’s eyes and hollowed his cheeks as he slid back.

“Christ!” John exclaimed.

“Oh, yeah,” James said. He walked towards them and Sherlock could see his erection before the tip of it nudged his cheek.

Sherlock glanced at John before pulling off, making sure a trail of spit clung from his lip to the tip of the condom. Then he wrapped a hand around the base of both of their cocks and pulled them to his mouth.

He couldn’t really fit them both in so he lapped at them and rubbed them together, mouthing each of them.

James wrapped his hand around the back of Sherlock’s head and pulled so Sherlock would look up at him.

“Get up so I can prepare you,” he said when Sherlock met his eyes.

Sherlock moved the hand that was on James to John’s hip. He guided John to the edge of the cot as Sherlock knelt up and turned. He managed to keep the tip of John’s cock in his mouth the whole time.

He felt James’s hands on his hips and when the first dollop of lube (cold, despite the Afghanistan heat) hit him and was worked in, he relaxed and focused on John.

John was standing at the end of the cot. Sherlock bent forward on his knees, wrapped one hand around the end of the cot and the other around John’s cock. He started working his hand up and down while working the spot under the glans with his tongue. The condom slid around John’s cock awkwardly but Sherlock was now used to the taste. He created a seal with his lips and, while keeping his tongue and hand moving, he sucked, slurping around the condom.

“Whoa, there,” John said and tugged admonishingly on Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock huffed out his nose but stopped moving his hand. He worked his mouth down, removing fingers as he went until his nose was buried in John’s pubic hair again. He glared at John and hollowed his cheeks again.

“Jesus!” John yanked on his hair. “You want this to last, don’t you?”

In response, Sherlock swallowed.

John threw his head back and groaned.

The movement at his arse changed. Sherlock hadn’t been paying much attention to what James was doing; there was one finger, then two, then three. Sherlock didn’t really feel much of a stretch -- he didn’t have sex often in London, but he did have an impressive collection of dildos.

Sherlock noticed the change in movement because the fingers were gone and there was something thicker pressing against his hole.

He looked up at John, alarmed. He paused his adulation of John’s cock but kept it in his mouth.

“Shh,” John said and stroked Sherlock’s forehead. “I think you need more lube,” he said to James.

“Fuck, sorry, forgot,” Sholto grunted.

The pressure was gone and Sherlock tried to relax. It hadn’t been a lack of lube, it had been a moment of weakness—of fear. He was in a foreign country between two men he didn’t know. No one knew he was with them and they could do anything to him. He’d known this and had sought it out, but reality hadn’t really sunk in until he’d felt that pressure.

The pressure was back.

“Gently,” John said.

And Sherlock relaxed further. John was clearly looking out for him. Nothing horrible would happen. He’d deduced this, he knew this. John cared about people; he wasn’t cruel and he didn’t like seeing people hurt, a deduction Sherlock had factored in subconsciously. Sherlock had been looking for a bit of rough sex and had decided on John, thought he was perfect. Sherlock wanted rough, not to be abused.

The pressure at his arse grew and grew and suddenly eased as the head of James’s cock pushed in. James paused, his panting breath cooling Sherlock’s back and his rough hands digging into Sherlock’s hips.

Sherlock looked up at John, needing assurance. James had prepared him well, there’d been no pain, but there hadn’t been any pleasure either.

“Shh,” John soothed, and scratched Sherlock’s scalp lightly. He pulled Sherlock’s hair a bit once James’s breathing started to even out.

Sherlock realized he’d pulled back off John -- only the tip of John’s cock was still in his mouth. He moved his body forward slightly; James moved with Sherlock but didn’t push in further until Sherlock had John’s cock in the back of his throat again. Sherlock hummed, pleased with himself.

“Ah!” John twitched, an aborted thrust brought on by the vibrations of Sherlock’s hum.

The movement wasn’t much but Sherlock pulled back instinctively. He slid down an inch onto James’s cock.

“Mmm!” Sherlock yelped in surprise. God, but he was huge! Sherlock couldn’t tell if he was bigger than his largest dildo but it felt like it. The condom clung despite the lube which Sherlock could feel leaking down his perineum and testicles.

James hissed and thrust his hips.

Sherlock fell forward; he braced himself against John’s thighs but his nose still mashed against John’s pubis. Sherlock’s throat closed but he successfully suppressed his gag reflex.

“Careful!” John said to James. He pushed on Sherlock’s shoulder and forced him down slowly, impaling him on James until James bottomed out.

“Sorry, sorry, he’s just so tight,” James said. Sherlock could feel James’ legs quake with the effort of not thrusting.

Sherlock huffed out his nose a bit and when he relaxed more, he moved back so only the tip of John’s cock was in his mouth. Then he shifted forward so John was all the way down his throat again. He repeated this until James shuffled into a good position.

“Good?” John asked Sherlock when Sherlock glanced up at him.

“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed happily.

“Good,” John said and started gently thrusting. The movement couldn’t have been more than three centimetres back and forth, in and out. But he was deep enough that Sherlock had to focus so John wouldn’t hit the back of his throat.

A drop of spit fell from Sherlock’s lip, hitting his chin before running down his neck.

Sherlock groaned and clenched around James.

James’s hands clenched around Sherlock’s hips and with a moan he was gently thrusting. The soldiers worked together so Sherlock was shifting back and forth between them. Sherlock tried to angle his hips so James would hit his prostate and it threw everything off. Soon John had both his hands in Sherlock’s hair, cradling his head so Sherlock didn’t move off his cock entirely or go too deep. James was petting Sherlock’s flank with one hand and the other moved down to Sherlock’s cock. The lube on his hand was tacky and his grip was loose, so it didn’t do much but tease.

Sherlock wrapped both his hands around the edge of the cot and tried to encourage James to move faster, to go deeper.

It seemed John was close to coming. He was twitching -- his legs, his hands, even his cock. He took one of his hands and felt down Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock moved to take him deeper. Sherlock knew when John felt his cock through Sherlock’s throat because John groaned.

“Fuck, your fucking _mouth,_ ” John groaned again.

He pulled back and Sherlock looked up at him, trying to focus while James started pounding him hard, pulling roughly on his cock.

The drag of James’ huge prick was wonderful; the angle on his prostate wasn’t perfect, but it was stimulation. Now James’ grip around his cock was too tight. Sherlock huffed out his nose in annoyance.

John pulled on Sherlock’s bicep and Sherlock got the hint. He shifted and wrapped his hand around John’s cock, pulling with the rhythm that James was pounding into him. He wrapped his lips around his teeth and started sucking hard.

And, oh, that was better. He was being shagged by two men, two army men, two muscular, blond men, sandwiched between their huge cocks…

“Ah, ah, ah, fuck, ah,” James gasped.

Sherlock rolled his hips and gripped John’s cock tighter, working him rougher. He could feel himself getting close. He looked up to John.

When their eyes met, Sherlock’s widened in surprise. John was looking at him in a way no one had ever looked at him before. He didn’t recognize the emotion but it made his chest feel odd.

“Fuck!” John’s cock hardened and he pushed Sherlock’s head down, thrusting into his mouth as he orgasmed.

Sherlock kept himself from choking by gripping John tighter and keeping his lips against his fist. John only thrust once before realizing his faux pas and letting go of Sherlock’s head. Sherlock sucked John’s glans gently and used his hand to work John through and stopped when John stepped away.

“God,” John said, and he was looking at Sherlock with that _look_ again.

Sherlock closed his eyes to give himself some space.

“He’s not there yet. I’m trying…” James said, the words garbled as he was gritting his teeth.

Of course he wasn’t, the look John had given him had unsettled him. He needed to be lost in sensation in order to come.

“Sherlock,” John said.

Sherlock didn’t look at him, he just hung his head and rested on his elbows.

There was a hand in his hair and his head was forced up. His back was forced into an arch and he groaned. His eyes watered and he opened them to see John again.

“How close are you?” John asked.

Sherlock tried to shake his head but couldn’t. He wasn’t there. What they’d done was hot, but it took too much of his attention and he hadn’t been able to focus on himself.

Suddenly there was a rustling and an increase in light as a man appeared in the doorway.

“Major, they said that you’d gone in here and we—” the new man stopped in his tracks and went speechless at the scene in front of him.

“Damn it, Murray,” John said. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“It’s a tent.”

John let go of his hair and Sherlock leaned forward again. Sherlock felt his arousal ratchet up. This was the situation he’d imagined, being walked in on while being fucked. He pressed his cheek against the cot and watched John march over to the new man. Sherlock rolled his hips as John whispered to this soldier. James grunted, his hand moving over the small of Sherlock’s back. Sherlock rolled his hips again and James’s hand flexed before he gave in and started thrusting again.

Whatever John was saying, Murray’s expression had gone from scandalized to speculative.

Sherlock felt his cock twitch.

Murray was tall, black, and yes, with that glance, Sherlock knew for certain, interested.

“Ahhh,” Sherlock moaned and writhed a little.

“Fuck,” James cursed quietly and slapped Sherlock’s arsecheek.

Sherlock yelped. Then he lifted his head to wipe the spit from his lips and chin. He’d left it there, pretending it was come.

He saw both John and Murray shiver.

James stopped moving and held Sherlock’s hips in place with one hand, the other resting on his back. “Will you be missed if you don’t come back?” he asked Murray.

Murray shook his head.

John pursed his lips as he looked at James then looked down at Sherlock. “This okay with you?”

Sherlock writhed a little and wrapped a hand around his erection. He nodded his head as he panted. John still waited and Sherlock felt his toes curl. “Yes. Please.”

James pulled out and Sherlock protested the loss. James ignored him so Sherlock sat up, disgruntled, and glared at James. John dressed quickly, leaving his vest on the floor. He said something to Murray once he was done.

“Sherlock?” John waited until he had Sherlock’s attention. “I’m going to be right back. Don’t come without me,” he ordered.

Sherlock shivered, his painfully empty hole clenching around nothing. He nodded and watched John leave.

James started kissing the back of Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock angled his head to give him better access.

“Sherlock, was it?”

Sherlock looked up at Murray.

“I’m Murray, Bill Murray. Nice to meet you.”

James found a sensitive spot and bit Sherlock gently. Sherlock moaned. He didn’t care for Bill’s chattiness. Sherlock hoped that if he ignored him Bill would get naked. Or touch him. Preferably both.

He reached down to touch his erection but James slapped his hand.

“John said for you to wait,” he said. When Sherlock tried to wriggle free James gripped him tighter and bit him again.

“Ah!” Sherlock gasped.

“Like it rough, do you?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said and tried to get free again.

James wrestled him; hot, hard muscles slid, slick with sweat, against Sherlock’s wiry frame, until James had him pinned down, back against the cot.

With Sherlock secured James looked up at Murray. “You going to just stand there or are you going to join us?” he asked him.

There was the sound of clothing being removed in a rush but Sherlock barely registered it. His neck was being attacked -- licks, kisses, suction, and bites were peppered up and down it and then James started working on his collarbones and his shoulders. All through this, Sherlock was able to make small thrusts against James’ abdomen, but he didn’t have enough movement to do anything other than tease himself.

James let Sherlock sit up and once again slapped his hand away from his cock.

Bill plopped onto the cot and pulled Sherlock between his legs. James crouched beside the cot.

“John said you’re having trouble coming. I think I know the problem,” Bill said. He whispered into Sherlock’s ear, “You need to be the centre of attention, don’t you?”

Sherlock huffed, then shivered as Bill licked up his neck.

James moved as if to kiss Sherlock but paused just before their lips met. “You think he needs everyone to focus on pleasuring him?” he said to Bill.

“Mm,” Bill hummed an affirmative before nibbling on a spot James had bitten.

Sherlock opened his mouth to object but James filled it with his tongue. James was a skilled kisser and whenever Sherlock moved to try to take charge of the kiss, Bill would move away from Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock wrapped his hand around Bill’s head to hold him in place when he got to a good spot and surged forward to James, wrapping his other arm around James’ back.

Their hands were rough as they moved over his body, bits of roughened skin catching on his arm and chest hair and callouses scraping his sensitive nipples. The room was filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and moans.

James pulled away and Sherlock opened his eyes.

John was back. He shucked his clothes and crawled onto the cot between Sherlock’s legs.

“Did you get it taken care of?” Bill asked, shaking off Sherlock’s attempts to hold his mouth to his skin.

“Yeah, got some more condoms too,” John said. His eyes raked down Sherlock’s chest and stopped at his flushed erection. “See you managed to get him to follow my orders.”

Sherlock reached out for John.

Bill tried to pull away and Sherlock aborted his attempt to get John to touch his cock and forced Bill back to his neck. He turned his head to the side and James was waiting for him. After a quick snog he was assured that everyone was fixated on him and he focused on John again.

“You like attention, don’t you?” John asked with a smirk.

Sherlock glared and tried to protest, but he was once again thwarted by James’ tongue.

“Yeah, he does,” Bill said from over his shoulder.

Sherlock pulled his head back down to his neck to shut him up.

John chuckled and started to roll a condom on Sherlock. He hissed and thrust into John’s fist.

“How do you want to do this?” John asked.

“I want a go at his mouth,” James said.

“Just a new condom?” John asked, looking at Sherlock.

“’s fine,” Sherlock said.

“Can I fuck him?” Bill asked.

Sherlock moved his hand behind him and groped Bill. He was average sized, fourteen—no, thirteen—centimetres. No, fifteen. Wait—

“Sherlock?”

“Oh, yes. Yes,” Sherlock said, abandoning his thoughts on Bill’s cock’s size.

“And I’ll—”

“I don’t want to fuck you,” Sherlock interrupted. It was strange. He normally didn’t care if he topped or bottomed, there was just something about John. He wanted to be able to see him.

No, that was insane. It was the positioning. He didn’t want to be sandwiched with a cock in his mouth. There wouldn’t be enough friction.

Yes. That was it.

“I’ll give you a blow job.” John smiled. It was clear he had intended to say that in the first place.

Of course, he’d just orgasmed. He’d be too sensitive to have sex now. Sherlock didn’t feel he was aroused enough to be this addlebrained.

John handed out condoms.

Sherlock mourned the loss as Bill and James moved away to put theirs on. But John provided a good distraction. He was stroking Sherlock gently as he positioned himself on his knees, his breath hot through the condom. He licked a stripe up Sherlock’s cock and looked up at him. Sherlock just blinked down. John smirked and winked before taking Sherlock into his mouth.

Sherlock gasped and watched as John worked his way down Sherlock’s cock. John fondled his testicles and looked up at him. Then he hollowed his cheeks and worked up and down.

“Ah!” Sherlock’s legs twitched; he wanted to thrust. He wasn’t huge, only twelve centimetres, still enough to choke someone. Thankfully he didn’t have to work to restrain himself -- his position didn’t allow for it.

“Budge up,” Bill said, patting Sherlock’s back.

Sherlock waited for John to pull off before moving.

Bill laid flat, his knees bent over the end of the cot and had Sherlock straddle him. There was plenty of lube and Sherlock was still stretched, so it was easy to sink down. Sherlock bounced a couple times, angling his hips so Bill hit his prostate before John caught his swaying cock and started sucking again.

The sensation was glorious--John worked with the condom, he was skilled and must have done this a lot. He twisted his wrist as he accidently hit Sherlock with his tooth.

Sherlock moaned. It wasn’t sharp, nothing painful, but the sensation was unexpected. He ground his hips carefully, working John into a rhythm and keeping Bill’s hips pinned. He was using them shamelessly for his pleasure. An exact reversal of his previous position. He alternated between closing his eyes and watching the blond’s head bob. John didn’t look bored or annoyed with Sherlock’s antics. It was as if he was enjoying this as much as Sherlock was.

James came up next to Sherlock. He wanted to have Sherlock lie back and thrust into his mouth but Sherlock needed—no, that was nonsense, he _wanted—_ to see John. He had James move to the side so if Sherlock looked down he could see John and could still suck enough that James wouldn’t go without.

There was a little manoeuvring as James wanted Sherlock to give him some attention first, so Sherlock sucked him down to the root, hollowed his cheekbones and drooled, but his heart wasn’t in it. It was distracting him from his own pleasure. A drop of sweat rolling down his back tickled him.

Finally, Bill lost patience and James was moved back into proper position.

Sherlock couldn’t bounce on Bill’s cock without risking the cock in his mouth, so Bill spread his legs, spreading Sherlock’s further and thrust, holding Sherlock’s hips up and pushing them down. John caught on quickly and he worked Sherlock with his mouth and hand. Sherlock could feel John’s other hand brush his testicles every once in a while; then he felt John’s fingers at his entrance and John moaned.

Sherlock getting fucked was turning John on. This whole thing was depraved. Sherlock moaned around James’s cock and started worshiping it. The weight on his tongue, the shapes of the skin under the latex, the heat, the _smell_.

“Ah, Jesus!” With one hand James pulled Sherlock’s hair and with the other he held Sherlock’s head still while he thrusted.

Sherlock relaxed, between the angle and his hand James couldn’t choke him. He closed his eyes and wiggled.

“Nn!” Sherlock shouted.

Everyone froze. James stepped back and Sherlock’s mouth was empty.

“What?” John asked in a panic.

“Don’t stop!” Sherlock cried. “That was my prostate!” He wriggled to try and get them to move again.

There were a few relieved chuckles and after a few seconds of finding the rhythm again, Sherlock started floating.

Bill was brushing Sherlock’s prostate perfectly, John’s tongue was a sin, and James was yanking on his hair hard enough for it to hurt. Bill’s fingers started digging in and Sherlock could feel him getting close. Sherlock worked his hand around James’s cock and it stiffened.

With a shout James came. No one stopped; in fact, it seemed to turn Bill on. He dislodged John, he started thrusting so violently. James stepped back and Sherlock dropped his hand, holding onto the cot instead.

Sherlock looked around, all eyes were on him. Everyone was watching him getting fucked roughly by Bill. Clear latex stretched obscenely and snapped, some semen leaking out as James removed his condom. A drop landed on Sherlock’s flank. Sherlock spread his legs more and writhed. This was better than all his fantasies.

Bill started biting Sherlock’s shoulder. He reached for Sherlock’s cock but John swatted his hand away. Sherlock cried out an objection but it went unheeded. Bill rolled and they fell off the cot. Sherlock landed hard onto floor, his arms protecting his face. He shouted as his erection was smashed.

“Bill!” John shouted.

But Bill just pulled Sherlock’s hips up and started thrusting harder.

“AH! AH! AH!” Sherlock shouted with each thrust. It hurt, but it also felt amazing.

“Bill!” James shouted.

“Sherlock?” John walked around and lifted Sherlock’s head up. Sherlock met his eyes.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he gasped, he couldn’t tell John he was ok, he didn’t have the breath but maybe John would see…

“James, it’s fine, he likes it,” John said. He was scowling at Bill but then he looked back down and smiled.

“Yeah, he likes it rough,” James said, relief evident.

“Take it, fuck!” Bill said and slapped Sherlock’s arse.

“Nnnnguh!” Sherlock cried out and tried to reach for his cock.

John yanked on Sherlock’s hair and met his eyes. “Don’t touch your cock,” he ordered.

Sherlock whimpered and went back to panting. But he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. He wasn’t going to beg, he wasn’t going to plead for John to let him come. John would make him come when the time was right. He closed his eyes at the thought.

“Have you ever seen anything so hot?” James asked.

“He’s beautiful. I can’t believe it,” John said in wonder.

Sherlock soaked in the praise.

“Take it, take it, say you like it,” Bill said.

He did like it. He liked all of it. He liked how his fingers were spread wide, trying to keep him from sliding forward despite his arms and side of his face already pressed into the carpet. He liked how his legs were splayed apart, knees slipping so Bill had to hold him up if he wanted to keep fucking him. He liked the burn in his arse. He opened his eyes and once he met John’s gaze again he said, “I like it. Give it to me!”

“Fuck!” Bill shouted.

“Fuck,” John gasped.

“Jesus, fuck,” James said and he knelt down, stroking Sherlock’s spine with one hand and his flank with the other. He smeared the come into Sherlock’s skin.

Sherlock felt something hit his cheek and realized that John was hard again. He looked up into dark blue eyes.

“Fuck me,” he said and held his mouth open.

“God,” John grabbed his cock and stuck it in Sherlock’s mouth.

“John, condom,” James said.

“Oh, righ—ah!” John gasped when Sherlock rested up on both elbows in order to grab and hold John’s hips in place. His fingers dug into John’s thighs.

“God, he’s sex incarnate,” John said.

Sherlock could taste semen and latex. God, this was filthy. John’s cock was smooth, silky, warm and alive in his mouth. His saliva washed away the stronger tastes and he could taste skin. He made himself drool more to flush the tastes faster.

Bill hit Sherlock’s prostate and Sherlock groaned. He let his arms fall back to the floor and John’s cock slid to the back of his throat. His eyes rolled back as Bill hit the sensitive nerves again and again. There was a man in his mouth, a huge man, nearly choking him, and the man behind him was nearly violent. Bill started slapping Sherlock’s arse in time with his thrusts. Sherlock was thrown off balance, Bill’s hand, gripping tight enough to bruise, couldn’t hold him straight. His skin started stinging and John’s cock slid around, Sherlock only barely had enough focus to not catch it with his teeth. It slid to the side, pushing out his cheek with each one of Bill’s thrusts.

John grabbed Sherlock’s head with both hands and held him so his cock was going down his throat again. Sherlock gagged and his eyes watered. John didn’t pull all the way out, he kept the head of his cock in Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock caught his breath and sucked and licked it, loving how it fit in him so perfectly. The hands around Sherlock’s torso stabilized him, holding him until Bill’s other hand took a bruising grip on his hip.

All he could smell was sweat and sex. His whole body was slick, his legs and cock burned, he was being touched by so many hands, but none of them were where he needed it. Testicles slapped against his balls, raising higher with each thrust. His forearms slid on the carpet and his fingers balled into fists.

“Mmm,” he moaned, begging for someone to touch his cock.

Fingers ran over his nipples and he drooled around the cock in his mouth. “Mm!”

“He likes that, do that again,” John said.

The fingers pinched and rubbed, then with a word from John, twisted. The hand in his hair yanked, the cock in his arse stiffened.

“Aarguh!” Bill shouted as he came, buried deep. John was waiting and once Bill bottomed he shoved his cock all the way down Sherlock’s throat. The sensation of being impaled on both ends nearly made him come. He was so close!

Bill made small thrusts before falling backwards.

“God, he’s brilliant,” Bill said.

Sherlock could feel himself glow.

“Flip him over,” John said and Sherlock resisted, he liked having John’s cock in his mouth.

“Flip him, I want to fuck him,” John said desperately.

And, yes, that sounded amazing.

Sherlock gagged a bit at how fast John’s cock moved out of his throat. He rolled onto his back and spread his legs.

“Condom! Here,” James said.

Sherlock wanted to object, they were taking to long. He needed release.

Then there were hands holding him down. “Let him put the condom on,” Bill said before kissing him upside down.

Hands were on Sherlock’s legs and his arse was lifted. Sherlock’s sweaty back clung to the carpet as James held Sherlock’s hips and John lined up. Sherlock’s legs were too tired to do anything other than dangle on each side of John’s body. Bill held Sherlock’s wrists to prevent him from reaching for his cock and watched.

“You’re huge,” Sherlock groaned as James let go of his hips and John let gravity work Sherlock down. John had used a nearly excessive amount of lube. It would have been too much had Sherlock not already been fucked for so long.

John caught his hips and held them as he asked, “You ok?” His arms shook with the effort of holding Sherlock’s hips in place.

“Not a complaint,” Sherlock said.

John chuckled. Bill released Sherlock when Sherlock felt pubic hair tickle his arse. Sherlock raised his torso, resting on his elbows so he could watch John as he started thrusting.

John must have felt the same need to be close because he leaned forward, hovering over Sherlock. He pulled Sherlock’s legs over his shoulders and bent Sherlock in half. Sherlock locked his ankles to keep his legs in place. He shook as John went deeper than anyone had gone yet.

“God,” John whispered against Sherlock’s lips.

“Not quite,” Sherlock said.

John laughed and kissed him. When he tried to pull away Sherlock held him in place and deepened the kiss. John started rolling his hips and Sherlock stroked his thumbs over John’s cheekbones.

This wasn’t a one night stand kiss; this was something more, it had morphed into something deeper. Sherlock gasped, he couldn’t stop. He needed John. John was thrusting into him without breaking the kiss. Sherlock let his legs fall and wrapped them around John’s hips. John pulled away and they stared at each other, the only sounds their mingled breaths.

 _I love you,_ Sherlock thought.

He looked away. It was shameful. He didn’t know John. He had his deductions but he didn’t have anything real. Love, true love, took time. Besides, he’d never see him again.

John started kissing Sherlock’s jaw and Sherlock couldn’t stand the tenderness. He clawed at John’s back.

“Harder,” he gasped, “fuck me harder.”

John gathered Sherlock’s hands and held them by the wrists above Sherlock’s head. Sherlock dug his heels into John’s back and John grunted as he increased the speed of his thrusts.

“Sherlock, look at me,” John said.

Sherlock wouldn’t meet his eye. He couldn’t. Not while he was like this, illogical and insane.

“I gave you an order, soldier,” John said.

Sherlock swallowed thickly.

John leaned back, freeing Sherlock’s hands, and Sherlock felt the condom ripped away from his cock.

“I want to see you when you come,” John said as he worked him.

Sherlock looked up at that.

John was grinding his teeth. He groaned then asked, “Are you close? What do you need?”

He didn’t have an answer.

John reached down, releasing one wrist and twisted Sherlock’s nipple.

“Do you need me to be rough?”

“Yes!” Sherlock latched on to the thought. If John was rough he would be distracted and he could just float on the sensation. “Choke me.”

John nodded and wrapped a hand around Sherlock’s throat.

Sherlock arched his back, oh, yes, this was nearly perfect. Sherlock wrapped his hand around John’s forearm and squeezed.

“Harder,” Sherlock gasped. He could still breathe.

John’s hand wrapped around harder, muscles flexing deliciously, and worked Sherlock’s cock rougher.

Sherlock couldn’t breathe… he was… and his prostate… and his cock! …and—

“Look at me. Come and look at me.”

The pressure around his throat disappeared. He took a deep breath and looked up into John’s eyes.

“JOHN!” he screamed as he came. He tried to maintain eye contact but he couldn’t. He was low on oxygen, he’d been aroused for too long. His eyes closed as John worked him through. Splatters hit his stomach and a drip rolled around his hip.

Once he could breathe again he looked up at John. He was getting sensitive. Was John close?

“SHERLOCK!” John shouted and he thrust so hard that Sherlock scooted across the floor. Once, twice, then John fell on him.

“Oof,” Sherlock huffed as the breath he’d caught was knocked out of him.

John panted into his neck.

Sherlock waited for John to move but he didn’t. He was breathing, heavily but hitched. Was something wrong?

“John?”

Why wasn’t he getting up, getting cleaned up and… leaving?

John’s breath caught.

“John?” Sherlock was alarmed now. Had John gotten dehydrated? How had he forgotten how hot it was? How could John stand touching him? He was boiling!

“Sorry,” John said and he rolled off.

Sherlock looked over and saw John wiping his face. The sweat from his face. But, it looked like… “Are you crying?”

John flinched away from him. “No!”

Liar.

Sherlock decided to let it go. He probably had rug burn or something. He was in pain and was embarrassed because he was a soldier.

Or he was upset, did he think he cheated on his commander? Probably not, John had frequent liaisons with Bill, after all. James too, he was their third.

“Where are you from, anyway?” John asked, looking at the ceiling.

Well, he wasn’t thinking about James, then. Probably the rug burn.

“London,” Sherlock said. He guessed that John had assumed that from the accent but he was happy John had asked -- he was smart enough to know that an accent could be faked.

 _Intelligent_ was added to the list of John’s qualities and Sherlock felt his chest tighten. He ignored it and focused on John.

John nodded, still not looking at him.

Sherlock couldn’t read John’s face. It looked as if he was upset. The only thing John could be upset about was him. He thought the sex was fantastic, though. Did John hate it?

“John—”

“You should call your—brother, was it? He called the base, wanted to know where you were.”

That must have been where John had gone. Perhaps where Bill and James were now.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. He didn’t want to call Mycroft. The big nosed git would know he found the missiles and would demand he come home. Sherlock wanted to stay and…

And…

He wanted to stay and get to know John better. He wanted to have more sex with John. He wanted to fall asleep next to him. He wanted to trace every line on his body, map his every freckle. He wanted to know what John did every day. Become part of his routine. He wanted to come back with John when he got his leave. To show John his flat. To…

_No._

“Yes. I should do that now,” Sherlock said and sat up. His shoulders ached and he thought he had bruises on top of bruises.

“Christ, Bill really did a number on you. Let me see—”

“No,” Sherlock interrupted and moved away. “I’m fine. I’m sure you have duties to be getting back to.”

That alarmed John and Sherlock added _caretaker_ to the list. “Did we hurt you? We were too rough, weren’t we? Here, bend over the cot. Let me have a look.”

Sherlock didn’t want John being nurturing toward him but John being clinical wasn’t much better.

“I’m fine,” he said flatly. Once it looked like John wasn’t going to have a panic attack he said, “I quite enjoyed myself. I just need to call my brother. I lied to James when I said I contacted him.”

“Oh.”

Sherlock nodded at John and tried to use a corner of the sheet (half ripped off the cot) to remove the semen from his abdomen. But it had already dried. He frowned at it.

“Do you need some help with... whatever it is you’re doing here?”

“No,” Sherlock said, picking at the flaking mess. How had it dried so fast? He was still covered in sweat. It was rolling down his back and his hair was plastered to his head. Then he registered what John said and gaped at him. John wanted to help? To spend time with him? Sherlock could be here to review paperwork for all he knew. He was busy, he had responsibilities. Why would he want to spend his precious free time with Sherlock if they weren’t having sex?

_Likes feeling useful._

His chest tightened again and Sherlock was forced to admit his heart was throbbing. Juvenile, maudlin, impractical and just… stupid. He wasn’t in love with John, he couldn’t be, not yet. But with every second spent in his presence the possibility grew.

“Fuck,” John swore and started getting dressed.

Sherlock looked at him in alarm.

“My shift started fifteen minutes ago. God, I’m a mess. This is going to be miserable.” He sighed and scratched his stomach, where he’d gotten Sherlock’s semen dried across it. “Oh, well. Nothing for it now.” John rambled as he pulled on his clothes. Once he had the jacket in place he looked at Sherlock.

“You sure you’re okay?”

He wasn’t okay. But that’s not what John was really asking. “It was the best sex of my life,” Sherlock said.

John smirked proudly, then the expression softened into a smile. “Me too. I’ll find you after my shift?”

Sherlock nodded. With any luck he’d be long gone by then.

John nodded and began to leave; he paused at the door and looked back. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again and left without saying anything else.

Sherlock found his phone and dialed Mycroft.

“I found your stupid missiles; Colonel Moran is selling them. Get me out of this hell hole.”

\----

John knew the idea was stupid. It had been years ago. The man probably never lived in London to begin with, and even if he did, he was probably married with kids by now. There was no way someone who looked like that, and was that good in bed, would stay single.

The thing was, it wasn’t just the sex. Sherlock was unique. He’d been ballsy enough to proposition group sex but had been scared when it had started. Something in John had melted when Sherlock had looked up at him with wide eyes as James had lined himself up.

And what would John do? Walk up to him and say, _“Hi, remember me? We had group sex on a military base three years ago? I’m back, got shot in the shoulder and somehow have a limp, I can’t pay my bills, and sex hasn’t been the same since that day. Sorry I’m creepily standing on your doorstep out of the blue. Want to go on a date? I can only afford coffee.”_

John snorted. That was the exact reason he had never looked the man up. If he remained in London there was a chance, a slim, stupid, pathetic chance, that they’d run into each other. John was sure he’d recognise him even if he had changed his hair.

“John, John Watson!”

Mike Stamford, an old mate from Bart’s. He wanted to catch up and John decided he didn’t want to go back to his depressing bedsit. When Mike inquired about John’s living situation, John regretted his decision. Then Mike mentioned someone who was looking for a flatmate.

Someone who made him chuckle.

And John thought, a flatmate? Why not? He could then afford to stay in London longer.

They made their way to the hospital lab and, god, Bart’s had changed everything. Could it be any clearer that he was old? Sleek computers, fancy digital equipment, things John had never seen.

“A bit different from my day,” John said to hide his discomfort at meeting the potential flatmate. The man was wearing a suit in a lab! He was absurd. It reminded John of Sherlock… the idiot had worn a suit to Afghanistan.

He and this stranger were about the same height, actually.

“You’ve no idea,” Mike said, chuckling.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine,” said the dark-haired man.

That baritone voice…

“And what’s wrong with the landline?” replied Mike.

It had to be…

“I prefer to text.”

It couldn’t be. John had hoped but he had never _really_ believed he’d ever see Sherlock again.

“Sorry, it’s in my coat.”

“Here, use mine,” John said, startling himself. He needed the man to come closer. When he saw him he’d know. Those eyes wouldn’t be the same. Then John could—

“Oh,” the man gasped. “Thank you.” He glanced over to Mike before going up to John.

It was him. It was Sherlock. He didn’t recognize him though. Sherlock probably hadn’t ever thought of him again. How could John have been so stupid?! When they ran into each other on the street Sherlock wouldn’t say, _“You up for another round?”_ he’d say, _“Sorry, who are you?”_

“This is an old friend of mine—”

“John Watson,” Sherlock said, finishing Mike’s sentence. He took John’s phone and started fiddling with it. His thumbs moved quickly and John snapped his open mouth shut and tried to stop staring at Sherlock.

“Oh, yes.” Mike was surprised. “Do you know each other?”

“Intimately,” Sherlock said as he placed the phone back into John’s hand. His eyes were silver now. They’d been light blue outside, when Sherlock had propositioned them. They’d been dark blue when Sherlock had wrapped his mouth around John’s cock. And they’d been green when John had Sherlock bent in half on that orange carpet.

John sucked in a breath when he saw that familiar little speck in Sherlock’s iris. He couldn’t look away. Sherlock didn’t break the gaze until John blinked.

“Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it,” Sherlock said as he walked away.

“What?” John asked. He had the same feeling he’d had when they’d met. Sherlock had taken the conversation and moved forward, leaving John stumbling to catch up and desperate to do so.

Sherlock put on a blue scarf and a long wool coat. “We’ll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o’clock. Sorry, got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.”

John nearly choked. Riding crop?

“Is that it?” he asked as Sherlock started to walk out the door.

“Is that what?” Sherlock asked, pausing.

John didn’t know what to say. He’d wanted something. He didn’t quite know what except that it was _more._ Sherlock wanted to meet up but he wasn’t making sense. It was almost as if he were running away. John needed to clarify.

“You want to meet for a coffee?” John tried.

“What? No! Flatmates!” Sherlock asserted.

“What?” John asked, thrown again. He’d suspected Sherlock could read minds. He always seemed to know when he was using to much pressure, how he needed to move his tongue, when to clench and how to press every single one of John’s buttons. It was almost as if he were some sort of succubus.

This wasn’t sex, though.

“Did you tell him I was coming?” John asked Mike.

“No,” Mike said with a smile.

Sherlock answered John’s next question without him having to ask it. “I told Mike this morning I was looking for a flatmate. Now, here he is just after lunch with an old friend. Wasn’t that difficult of a leap. Unless…” Sherlock looked him up and down, “…you are looking for a flatmate, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes. I am, but—”

“Is it the riding crop? My idea of a joke. Don’t worry, I only use it on cadavers.”

“What? No, I… what?” John stammered. He decided it wasn’t important and said what he had intended to say, “I don’t have the address.”

“Oh,” Sherlock said. He spun and opened the door. “The address is two, two, one B Baker Street.” And with a click and a wink he left.

John looked at Mike in disbelief.

“Yeah, he’s always like that,” Mike said with a wry smile.

“Really?” John’s heart sank. He’d thought that Sherlock was flirting with him. Did Sherlock just hit on everyone then?

“Well, not like _that_ ,” Mike clarified _. “_ I meant with the deductions.”

Deductions?

Before John could ask, Mike continued, “I think he likes you. I’ve never seen him so…” he trailed off.

“Really?” John asked hopefully.

His phone pinged twice and he looked down at it.

**I changed my mind. -SH**

**About Baker Street, I mean. -SH**

John frowned. Those were Sherlock’s initials. Did he not want to be flatmates, then? Before John could get too worried, another text came in.

**Come at once if convenient. -SH**

And immediately after, it pinged again.

**If inconvenient, come anyway. -SH**

John smiled.

**I’ll be right there, don’t come without me. -JW**

**Author's Note:**

> The following are NSFW! 
> 
> I used this gif: [Tumblr](https://nsfwandnerdy.tumblr.com/post/175811980406) and this fanart: [and now I guess you have my porn blog’s url](https://nsfwandnerdy.tumblr.com/post/175813693181/knottail-john-indulges-sherlocks-military-kink) as inspiration for this fic. 
> 
> You can find me on my (mostly) sfw Tumblr at [TheArtOne](https://theartone.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@GizmoTrinket221](https://twitter.com/GizmoTrinket221)


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